


The One With the Fuel Play

by fascinationex



Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [23]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Vile Smut, failed flash fiction I'm sorry, for robots, yes I AM going to flog the 'unhygenic gremlin misfire' pony until it gets up out of its grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: Misfire's fans were running so high he could hear them whistling and whining in his vents. Evidentlyoneof them found it sexy."We are not going to do that," Fulcrum said, firmly. That was gross and probably dangerous.(They were definitely going to do it.)
Relationships: Fulcrum/Misfire (Transformers)
Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311599
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	The One With the Fuel Play

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be one of my flashfics from twitter but a)I feel like you can't, or at least shouldn't, write bloodplay for someone's prompt without discussing it and b) it got too long, even though I ripped out like 500 words...
> 
> It is still flashfic in the sense that I haven't edited it worth a damn

"You worry too much," said Misfire. "I've done it hundreds of—okay, at least five or six times." 

Fulcrum thought he worried just enough, actually, but Misfire's fingers were stroking maddening, tempting little circles on the plating inside of his thighs. 

They were slick with the dark, unhealthy-looking fuel that had been cold inside a defunct cybertronian a few minutes ago.

The unlucky mech was still only a few body lengths away from them. Fulcrum wasn't sure how he'd allowed Misfire to crowd him into the corner of the dingy, ancient bunker. 

The others were exploring the remainder of the base, checking in occasionally, but it had been largely uneventful—and not very fruitful—until Fulcrum had found the body and Misfire had crowed to find its greyed out plating still hid a still pool of old fuel, which, with a little refining, could be made safe for the W.A.P. or its crew.

"You've self serviced with someone else's energon?" Fulcrum wondered. On Misfire's hands, the fuel had warmed to body temperature and gone all, uh, slippery again. 

It felt like lubricant wetting his thighs, even though it wasn't, and Fulcrum's whole frame gave a decadent, hopeful little throb.

"Sure." Misfire's wings ticked as he preened. They were cute, even though they were scuffed, all sharp and pointy and perfectly angular. "Sexy, right?" 

"Kind of disgusting, actually," said Fulcrum. 

"You'll feel differently eventually." He pawed at Fulcrum's plating. "One day we're gonna frag while I siphon your fuel out," he promised.

This didn't sound that sexy to Fulcrum on the surface of it—terrifying and like it presaged a quick trip to the repair bay, actually, when Misfire inevitably got distracted and left him leaking out on their shared floor—but Misfire's fans were running so high he could hear them whistling and whining in his vents. Evidently _one_ of them found it sexy.

"We are not going to do that," Fulcrum said, firmly. That was gross and probably dangerous.

Misfire's vents blew hot air down on him, gently stoking every sensor in his plating. Beneath the reek of old fuel he could smell Misfire's fluids, thick and heady. He must have been leaking. 

Fulcrum had an inkling that they probably _were_ going to do that, even though it was a terrible idea. Whatever faint electrical impulses usually took place inside Fulcrum's brain module, they were generally rerouted to his interfacing systems the moment Misfire put his hands on him. 

He wasn't working very hard to fix it. 

"Sure, pinhead," said Misfire, like he also knew this.

The slippery slide of Misfire's completely disgusting hand put pressure on all of the swollen components behind Fulcrum's modesty panels. Like many of Fulcrum's transformations these days, this one happened without permission from his formal processing: there was a click and a hiss and then Misfire was rubbing fuel _inside_ him—

The energy rating of random siphoned energon wasn't high, but it wasn't insignificant either. Misfire's fingers weren't that dextrous, but they didn't need to be. Charge crackled—literally crackled, lighting up, throwing a glow against the dingy walls—over the lowest nodes in the outer mesh of Fulcrum's valve.

He made an absolutely unholy noise. His frame arched helplessly, like a puppet drawn on its string.

Misfire moaned loudly in response. He didn't pull his fuel-coated fingers away, he just dragged them up to Fulcrum's anterior node instead, and rubbed their heavy charge across that bright, throbbing little bead.

It was—ah—it was a lot more than his own hands, or a tongue or a spike or even a really good toy was likely to carry. For a moment of contact, despite how soft the actual touch was, all that energy was hitting his anterior node.

Electric pleasure lanced through him, so intense it very nearly hurt. Fulcrum felt the world drop away completely in the face of the acute, overwhelming sensation. 

"Hhhng," he said, eloquently. 

His knees unhinged. Misfire grunted at his sudden weight, and then lowered him to the floor with a clank.

Even when Misfire had lifted his fingers the charge lingered. His entire interfacing system, largely buried beneath his plating and protoform, buzzed in confused and aching pleasure. It felt so good, it—

Obviously, Misfire had left a giant smear of someone else's energon across Fulcrum's anterior node.

He sort of wished the dizzy moan he made was one of disgust, instead of confused horniness. But it wasn't. He could feel it in his heaving systems, in his flimsy internal fans clicking frantically as they tried to climb to full and heavy use. He was going to overload _spectacularly_ doing this. All he had to do was sprawl here and let Misfire, just... let Misfire...

Misfire blew out a hot vent of air. It rushed over him, down his plating, over his own gaping vents, across the hot slick mess between his thighs. None of the sensors knew what to do with the combination of slick fuel and hot air.

"That's disgusting," he groaned, arching into it. "Frag. Oh _frag_."

Misfire was making hard little engine noises with every vent now. This was something Fulcrum was more used to finding attractive: Misfire with his plating fluffed out and his vents cracked wide, engine purring, wings twitching in eager little flutters, optics burning bright with his own high charge. Frag. 

"Aw, yeah. Come on. Show me, show me, show me," he mumbled, presumably to Fulcrum's valve, because Primus knew Fulcrum's processor was barely a passenger on this ride. 

His anterior node kept throbbing and buzzing pleasantly, reacting to the residue even though it wasn't being touched directly. 

His frame was running so hot he could feel condensation gathering between his protoform and his plating.

Misfire's fingers were wet now with a mix of stolen energon and Fulcrum's own fluids, and he circled his anterior node—far enough from it that Fulcrum felt his hips jerk into the touch, looking for that contact—and then pulled them down toward the opening of Fulcrum's valve. 

The interior nodes weren't necessarily more sensitive, but there were a lot more of them, and the sensory infrastructure behind them was huge and sprawling, even in Fulcrum's cheap, stripped-down frame. 

"Mis—" His vents snapped open to their widest setting and his engine gave a hard, startled rev, loud enough to be heard over even Misfire's screaming fans. "Misfire, unngnh—oh, wait, Misf... aah... ah..."

He did not wait, or else he didn't even register Fulcrum's words before his fingers were sliding inside the flushed, swollen lips of his valve. He made a deep, satisfied noise when Fulcrum's valve immediately clenched down, calipers squeezing, desperate to keep Misfire's soaked fingers pressed into the soft inner lining. The fuel coated his insides in a staggering wash of charge. 

His visual field glitched. His spark chamber was too hot. One of his fans was cracked. His t-cog was grinding, starting and stopping its transformation trigger unpredictably. Errors and alerts popped up one after another, until they were happening too fast to follow. 

Fulcrum overloaded, so hard his whole frame locked up with a series of loud clicks. The cables in his limbs stretched taut and tensed until he shook and shook. 

He heard his own voice make a loud, shocked, dizzy moan. 

"Frag," Misfire was saying, or at least he might have been saying. Fulcrum could hear his own spark spinning and not much else for an endless, blissed-out moment.

His frame relaxed. His limbs felt like energon goodies looked.

After a second, he grunted.

He could see Misfire, vaguely, through a visual field that was glittery with static. He looked like he was almost in physical pain. 

"Move, move," he said, before Fulcrum had even really started to focus again. He picked up Fulcrum's leg under the knee and tossed it aside with a loud clank. Fulcrum barely felt it. "I'm gonna frag you," Misfire said.

Fulcrum considered saying no. He really did. His valve certainly didn't need the added charge Misfire's spike would carry, and he had the vague thought that it might not be good for him to have someone else's old energon shoved that deep in his valve.

Misfire's spike dragged through the mess of lubricants and energon decorating his valve's plush, swollen entrance. 

Fulcrum's engine gave a needy whine. He rocked into it.

...It would probably be fine. 

Fulcrum spread his thighs further apart. "Just... hurry up."

**Author's Note:**

> (Next up: [It was not fine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23257366).)
> 
> If you liked something about this please feel free to drop me a comment! :)


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